


Give Back Your Heart To Yourself

by ForeverChasingDreams



Series: Love After Love [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Multi, Nothing explicit, OT5, mentions of Harry/OFC, past abuse/non-con, recovery fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverChasingDreams/pseuds/ForeverChasingDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Harry, recovery comes slowly, gradually, and painfully. Life continues to flash by them all in a series of little moments, each as precious and coveted as the others, bringing tears and laughter and smiles and maybe, eventually, a new beginning.</p><p>Sequel to Little Reed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Back Your Heart To Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> This will not make sense without reading Little Reed first. The same warnings apply to this - but note that nothing is ever explicitly described or even mentioned in this sequel. Instead, it is more a study of recovery and how life starts to shift back into normal patterns after trauma. Please note, there are some long time skips in this - most of it is not directly linked, just a short series of moments that chart out the two years.  
> Title comes from Love after Love, by Derek Walcott, which is written below. A beautiful poem.

_The time will come_  
 _when, with elation_  
 _you will greet yourself arriving_  
 _at your own door, in your own mirror_  
 _and each will smile at the other's welcome,_  
  
 _and say, sit here. Eat._  
 _You will love again the stranger who was your self._  
 _Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart_  
 _to itself, to the stranger who has loved you_  
  
 _all your life, whom you ignored_  
 _for another, who knows you by heart._  
 _Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,_  
  
 _the photographs, the desperate notes,_  
 _peel your own image from the mirror._  
 _Sit. Feast on your life._

**Love After Love**

_**Derek Walcott** _

 

The weeks pass, and Liam watches as seasons speed by. The days are numbered not by dates but by locations; arenas and stadiums and radio stations and photo shoots. They live life by their calendars, each small number fading into the next, on and on and on. Things heal, Harry starts to smile, and the tender threads between the five solidify as time flies by.

 

They spend two days in New York, weeks after Cowell was jailed, an indefinite number of days that Liam can’t remember but knows with a bone deep certainty that Harry could reel off at a second’s notice. They’re due to perform on some TV show, their first live performance of Little Reed, and tension hangs in the air even as Liam and Harry sprawl over each other in their hotel room.

“Melissa wants to know why you haven’t rung her,” Louis interrupts them, sticking his head through the door and cocking his head at Harry. Liam frowns; Harry’s weekly sessions with his psychiatrist are a constant since it all began – or ended? – and for him to miss one was unusual.

“Does everyone in this band talk to her more than me?” Harry huffs against Liam’s chest, not even looking at Louis.

“She’s a very lovely lady,” Louis jokes, coming into the room, picking up Harry’s phone and pressing it into his palm. “Ring her.”

“Not about you,” Liam assures Harry quietly, when he can feel the tension in Harry’s body remain. “Patient confidentiality, remember?”

Harry nods, barely visible, and Liam gently pushes him up and off his chest. “Slave drivers,” he complains, and both Louis and Liam smile but Liam, certainly, feels more worry than amusement.

“Why haven’t you rung?” Louis asks quietly.

Harry shrugs, turns the phone over in his hands a few times. He looks young like this, hair mussed and face crinkled, dressed softly in boxers and a t-shirt. He doesn’t look twenty and he doesn’t look . . . damaged. And Liam hates himself for thinking it, but Harry is, at heart. He doesn’t show it anymore so much, fractures in private now that the world has backed off a little, but to anyone who knows him, it’s obvious that Harry is held together by little more than children’s glue.

“Haz,” Louis says, voice softer, and Liam watches as Harry drags his eyes up.

“What?” he says flatly. “I forgot.”

Liam exchanges a glance with Louis, and subtly shakes his head behind Harry. _Leave it_ , he mouths to Louis. It’s for Melissa to deal with, not them. That’s been a transition they’ve struggled with, more than anything. The knowledge that the five of them can’t heal everything, that for Harry to heal they have to let someone else in to their most intimate interactions. That sometimes they have to simply step back and let Melissa deal with the fallout.

“Want us to leave?” Liam says instead of his tangled thoughts as Harry brings up Melissa’s number.

Harry hesitates, desire for company warring with a need for privacy, and Liam makes the decision for him, knowing that Harry needs to feel safe with Melissa, and that means safe from the band, too.

“C’mon,” he says to Louis, climbing off the bed. “Let’s grab some food.”

Louis smiles at Harry, tender soft and protective, and murmurs, “See you later,” as he follows Liam out.

Liam closes the door behind them and rests against the wall for a second. Louis grips his bicep briefly, calm in the almost forced manner he’s become since Cowell’s arrest, and simply says, “Food?”

“Definitely chocolate,” Liam returns, and Louis barks out a laugh. They’re not normal, not yet.

 

Normal shifts as time goes on. Normal isn’t pre-discovery group hugs and laughter and lying. Normal melts into careful touches and soft smiles and truth, even when it hurts. It means Harry curling up next to Zayn at night when he’s feeling unsafe, resting his head against Niall when he needs physical comfort, hiding behind Liam when he gets scared. It means Louis getting trashed when he can’t deal with the guilt, and Zayn venting to Perrie down a phone line.

Normal changes, and they change, and life as the most popular boy band on the planet carries on.

 

Eleanor flies out to meet them when they tour in Greece for the first time ever. The language is incomprehensible, the food delicious, and the sun a welcome breath of fresh air compared to England.

Harry drifts in to Liam’s room one night, the second day after Eleanor joins them. Liam lets him curl up next to him, taking care not to make a move until Harry settles down, breathing steady. He doesn’t ask what made Harry seek him out at two in the morning, but Harry tells him anyway.

“I can hear them having sex,” Harry says, gunshot loud in the silent room, and Liam strokes Harry’s arm gently, makes himself listen and not fuss.

There’s quiet for a couple of minutes.

“I don’t want to ever have sex again,” Harry confesses, his voice a bare whisper, soul naked and so, so honest.

“That’s okay,” Liam murmurs, calm despite the ache deep in his heart.

“I know,” Harry says quietly, and that’s the last exchange all night, but Harry doesn’t leave.

 

“Keep it down next time, yeah?” Liam says to Louis the next day, voice low as he makes sure that Harry isn’t around.

Louis frowns. “What?” he asks, confused.

“Harry heard you, last night,” Liam explains patiently. “Came crawling to me. Can you, like, not? He’s not- not good about sex, yet.”

Louis sucks in a breath. “Shit, yeah,” he says eventually. “I didn’t think the walls were that- Christ, okay, I’ll talk to Eleanor.”

Liam nods. “Perrie comes next week,” he mentions hesitantly. “Could you-”

Louis nods. “I’ll talk to Zayn, too,” he agrees without even letting Liam finish the sentence.

 

“So, boys,” the interviewer says, a small smile on her perfectly made-up face, “talk to me about your latest album. It’s quite different, isn’t it?”

“We’re hoping it’s a bit more mature, moving away from our original kind of pop,” Liam starts, and Zayn takes over quietly.

“We’re writing all of it now, pretty much, so, like, we’re exploring our own styles and trying out new stuff.”

“Who wrote what, then? Harry, you wrote, um, I think- Little Reed? Is that right?” the interviewer asks, and Liam watches as Harry snaps his head up and plasters on a smile. He’d been barely paying attention, struggling that day, and they’d all tried to keep the attention off him as much as possible. It never really works.

“Um, yeah, Little Reed is one of mine,” Harry mumbles. Louis cuts in quickly and Liam squeezes Harry’s leg gently.

“Zayn wrote quite a few, and me and Liam worked on a load together – like, Paper Planes is one of ours.”

“I wrote Us Against Them,” Niall pipes in.

The interviewer nods, and Liam nearly breathes a sigh of relief for moving the conversation off Harry, when:

“And Little Reed is personal to you, isn’t it, Harry?”

Louis’ face tightens, lips squeezed together whilst Niall presses his fingers against Harry’s other side in silent support. Most are human enough to leave Harry alone on this topic, in person at least. But this one’s blood-thirsty, desperate for a scoop – _Harry Styles opens up about Cowell_ – and Liam’s more than a little furious at her.

“Yeah, um, I guess it sort of is-” Harry starts to stumble out, feet tense against the floor and biting down on his lip in between words.

“Everything we write is somewhat personal,” Liam jumps in, anxious to stop the procession of memories going through Harry’s mind right now. “It’s impossible to write something not influenced by your own experiences, I reckon.”

 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Louis had asked, one long night at the start of tour. “Like, singing it every day. Doesn’t it remind you?”

They were sprawled across the bed in Liam’s room – as always – and Harry was resting his head on Louis’ lap. Liam’s feet were tangled with theirs, soft warm skin pressing into each other. Zayn and Niall were in their own rooms, skyping home or having a sleep, and so the three of them had opted for a quiet chat and gentle company.

Harry had shaken his head slightly, barely moving from his position on Louis. “Reminds me that it’s over,” he said, slowly and cautiously and a little timidly.

“Wouldn’t you rather forget completely?” Liam had wondered aloud.

Harry had smiled, just a little smile, tinged with sadness and something intangible to Liam, something deeper than grief and worse than fear. “I’m never going to forget,” he had said.

 

They fly back to London together at the end of their US tour and climb into different cars awaiting them. Niall’s going back to Ireland, Louis up to Doncaster, Zayn to Bradford – but Harry’s staying in London. Zayn had tried to get Harry to go to Cheshire, get away from the fans and the hustle and bustle a bit, but he’d refused.

“You going to be alright?” Zayn says now, and Liam smiles and he watches. Zayn’s quieter and gentler than the rest of them but he’s so fiercely protective of Harry now, watchful in his own way, probably because he was the first one to find out.

“Fine,” Harry replies with a fond grin, reaching out to touch Zayn’s arm briefly. Liam steps forward, pushes himself into the conversation.

“Course you are, Hazza,” Liam says cheerfully. “I’ll be with you, after all.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows with a knowing smile. “Thought you were going to see your family?” he asks a little cheekily. Liam shrugs. He had been, but all he can see is Harry, lost and alone and struggling in the huge vibrant city that is London, and all he can think is, who’s going to hold him when he’s scared? Who’s going to talk him down when he has a flashback?

Sue him, he’s always been called Daddy Direction.

“You don’t need to stay, Li, honestly,” Harry tells him, shaking his head in amusement. But Liam doesn’t think he’s wrong when he also sees relief there too, and so he wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“No fun in Wolverhampton, mate,” he answers light heartedly. “I’d rather stay in London. Nothing to do with you at all.”

Both of them know he’s lying. It doesn’t matter.

 

“I’m going out tonight,” Harry says out of the blue, looking up from his phone finally to meet Liam’s eyes.

Liam shrugs, unconcerned. Harry does what Harry wants, ultimately, and he’s a bit of a social butterfly. “With who?” he asks curiously.

“Grimmy, Pixie, Aimee – it’s Collette’s birthday, so probably quite a few people,” Harry tells him idly, turning to look out the window.

“Sounds good,” Liam says, wondering why Harry told him. There’s a couple of beats of silence.

Then, “will you come with me?” Harry requests, his voice even but hands clasped tightly on his lap. Liam’s surprised and a little worried but knows he can’t show this, can’t drive Harry away again like they all did a bit at the beginning.

“Course,” is all he says. “Do I need a present?”

Harry smiles at him, relief in his eyes at the easy acceptance. “Nah,” he answers. “It’s not that sort of party. Just at a club. Relaxed, casual, that sort of thing.”

Liam nods. He struggles to find words for a moment or two, hesitating to voice his concerns. “Worried they’ll have all forgotten you?” he teases in the end, letting Harry decide how much to say.

The younger lad lets his lips twitch, then settles. “They’re-” he pauses. “I love them. But, like, some of them, they don’t know how to act, now. Like, they’re careful. Not Grimmy,” he adds hastily. “Nick’s great. Just like, some of the people I don’t know that well. And it’s awkward. Sometimes. And like, I think having you there- I don’t know. Like a buffer, maybe?”

Liam gets it, feels an ache deep in his chest for Harry, who struggles enough with his own memories and emotions without dealing with other people, but doesn’t see why he should stop caring about it. “Makes sense,” Liam agrees. “Dress code?” he asks, moving on.

Harry bites his lip, looks at his phone again. “Smart-ish?” he seems to guess. “Like, it is just a club.”

 

It’s a bloody fancy club, is all Liam thinks later, wandering in. He’s been to loads, of course he has, but he still feels a little underdressed for this. Harry looks like a cross between a rock star and a model like usual, and Liam can only curse his good heart for getting him in this situation. Harry’s immediately swamped under hugs and kisses and hellos as his hipster clique welcomes him back.

“Liam,” Aimee exclaims in surprise, reaching forward to hug him too. He’s only met her a couple of times so he’s pretty grateful for her friendly greeting. “Harry dragged you out, did he?”

Liam smiles wryly. “Something like that,” he agrees, and sees her nod thoughtfully back at him. He may not know her well, but he knows of her well enough to get that she’s smart and quick – and has obviously sussed out Harry’s discomfort.

“Do you know everyone?” she asks, gesturing to the other guests. Harry comes over to stand next to him again as people start dispersing.

“I know a few,” he answers, relaxed.

“Sorry I dragged you here,” Harry says, with a small smile that Liam knows is covering hidden insecurity.

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend my evening with such lovely people?”

Aimee high-fives him. “Yeah, Harry,” she says. “We rock. Liam came for me, not you.”

 

It’s not until later that Liam starts to see what Harry meant. Someone bumps into him – Gillian, he thinks? He gets confused with the clique – and immediately apologises, stepping back and face creasing with concern.

“Sorry, Harry, sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Not a problem,” Harry tries to get in, but she keeps talking.

“I’ll look before I walk next time, yeah? I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“It’s fine, Gels,” Harry says firmly, reaching out to squeeze her arm. “I’m fine.”

And he is, Liam can see. He’s so much better with casual contact than before, much more at ease, but still just as frustrated by being treated with kiddie gloves as he always was.

“Sorry,” she says again. “Okay.” There’s an awkward silence, Harry giving Gillian a tight smile.

“Time for another drink, I think, Hazza,” Liam announces, steering Harry gently away and towards the bar.

“Thanks,” Harry mutters quietly. Liam buys him a drink.

 

Liam wakes up at seven the next morning, exhausted and slightly hung over and wondering what in hell woke him up. There’s the sound of the kettle in the kitchen and quiet swearing.

When he gets there, hair mussed and eyes half shut, he’s greeted with the sight of Harry leaning over the sink, one hand held firmly under the cold water.

“Morning,” Liam says, watching the younger boy carefully. Harry looks like he hasn’t slept at all. He seems small and young and tired in his boxers, half bent over.

“Hey,” Harry greets lowly.

Liam goes to get two mugs out. He’s stayed at Harry’s enough to know where everything is. “Hurt yourself?” he asks mildly.

“Burnt it on the kettle.”

“Badly?”

“Nah,” Harry answers. “Just a surface burn. It’ll fade.”

“Too tired to pay attention, huh?” Liam says, pouring the abandoned kettle carefully into the mugs and adding the tea bags.

“I’m fine,” Harry replies sharply, pulling his hand out and turning off the tap.

“It’s eight,” Liam says gently. “That’s less than five hours sleep.”

“Yeah?”

“Harry,” is all Liam says, lost. He doesn’t know how to broach this without Harry flying off the handle. He’s been locking himself away, shutting them all down as he heals. He doesn’t want to discuss it. He won’t even think about it.

“What, Li?” Harry demands, turning to face him. “You already know I can’t sleep. What do you want me to say?”

“Talking might help,” he says a little helplessly.

“I’ve talked all bloody year,” Harry snaps back. “I told the whole fucking world what happened, Liam, and now I want to fucking forget.”

Liam can only watch as Harry grabs his cup of tea and marches back into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

Liam answers the door to Grimmy at lunchtime, when Harry’s door shows no sign of opening.

“Hey Liam,” Grimmy greets, not seeming surprised at all at the sight of him. “Harry in?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, letting him in and shutting the door. “He’s not- in a great mood at the moment though. Haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“Thought so,” the man replies, nodding. “Did he tell you? About last night?”

“Tell me what?”

“Someone was talking about it. About Cowell. And Harry heard.” Nick tells him. Liam sighs, closes his eyes. He’d left early after Harry promised he would be fine. He should have known it would be a train wreck.

“Saying what?” he wants to know.

“Just how sick Cowell was, talking about what the newspapers are saying, the usual crap. But he didn’t look great.”

Liam nods. “He’s hardly slept.”

“Will you stop talking about me?” comes a voice from another room, and Harry emerges with a severe frown. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Harold,” Nick greets with a grin. “Always a pleasure.”

“Shut up, wanker,” Harry says, but he returns the smile. Liam loves Grimmy for this, for his ability to always, without fail, make Harry laugh.

“Heard you’re being a diva,” Grimmy says, moving around Liam to give Harry a hug. “Smashed a TV yet?”

“I was practicing on my pillows first,” Harry answers with a straight face. Liam takes this as a cue to go, moving subtly into the lounge. He can hear voices and laughter moving into Harry’s room and smiles to himself.

 

Harry wakes Liam up the next night, at a time when it’s pitch black outside but the artificial London lights are inevitably streaming strongly behind the curtains. Liam stirs in the darkness of the spare room and hears the flush of the toilet. _Harry_ , he thinks, and closes his eyes again.

The sound of crying propels him out of bed a moment later, and he pads towards the bathroom where he can see the twenty-year-old sitting on the floor. His greasy hair is pushed back and his hand is covering his mouth, trying obviously to mask his sobs. He looks vulnerable, curled tightly into himself. He’s skinny too, skinner than he has been before, and Liam wonders why they haven’t noticed before.

“Harry?” he says quietly, crouching down carefully a few feet away. Harry just shakes his head, unable to give a verbal reply.

Liam feels a little helpless. He slowly shuffles so that he’s sitting opposite Harry, cramped by the sink against his side, and reaches out to place a hand on Harry’s arm. He doesn’t dare do more than that when Harry is still barely with it, because he’s seen what happens when Harry gets startled and a flashback is triggered. So he sits, and waits, and allows his presence to be a comfort for the shattered man in front of him.

 

There’s no cure for trauma, no magic fairy wand to wave and say, “you’re healed!” There’s long nights and tough days and smiles with no substance behind but there’s also close hugs and belly laughs and things do, slowly, gradually, start to reach a new normal. There’s a plateau, a stage that Harry and the rest of them start reaching for, when things aren’t the same but are steady instead, and that’s maybe the only thing they can hope for.

 

They start recording again as winter arrives, dragging in a fiercely cold wind and the usual drizzly rain. There are flood warnings in the south east and the Thames barrier rises on a regular basis, but for them, there’s calm after the storm. They’re all gathered back in London again, but they don’t cling to each other as perhaps they have before. Harry goes out with Grimmy and his clique, Zayn spends time with Perrie when she’s around, Liam renews his regular visits to the Funky Buddha.

Then, one morning, Harry walks in to the studio late and says , “I think I have a girlfriend.”

He doesn’t look at any of them, just lets the words flow out as he heads for the kettle in the corner. Liam exchanges a silent look with Zayn.

“Good for you, Haz,” Niall says lazily, lounging on a sofa. “Pour me a cup, would ya?”

Harry nods. He still doesn’t turn around. Liam wonders what he wants them to say.

“Is that a good idea?” Louis asks quietly, leaning against a wall. Paul and Preston are in the corner, and they fall silent at this. Liam doesn’t even know if Harry’s aware of their presence, and he can see the two men looking a bit uncomfortable.

“My choice, isn’t it?” Harry retorts, handing the tea to Niall and slumping next to him.

“Who is it?” Zayn jumps in.

“Her name’s Kate.”

“And you like her?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah,” is all he says, and Liam’s at a loss. He’s never thought about this, about Harry’s sex life outside of Cowell. He knows Taylor was for publicity, as were a couple of others, but at the time he’d genuinely thought Harry had slept with some of his girlfriends. Had he? Or was it another lie in the web Cowell had forced Harry to carve?

“You couldn’t deal with me and El having sex,” Louis says quietly, but the words are harsh and Harry flinches. “How are you going to deal with a girlfriend?”

“Love doesn’t mean sex, Lou,” Niall points out quickly. “He doesn’t have to sleep with her.”

“Don’t be naïve,” Louis dismisses.

“It’s none of your business,” Harry insists, face pale but set. “Shove off, Louis.”

“He’s worried,” Liam says, attempting to keep the peace. “We all are.”

“You don’t need to be,” Harry says forcefully. “I’m fine.”

His words echo within Liam, bringing him back to times at the beginning – or the end? – when Harry would shut himself up and close them off and say, over and over and over, throwing the words into their worn faces, _I’m fine, leave me alone, stop fussing_. His recovery charts trends, shutting them out then letting them in, rinse and repeat.

 

“Harry slept at mine last night,” Niall says to Liam quietly, a couple of weeks later. They’re alone, chilling outside the studio while the others finish some individual photo shoots.

“Why?” Liam asks, heart sinking.

“He didn’t tell me.” A shrug.

“Nightmares?”

“I don’t think he slept.”

 

“Since you’re all so fucking nosy,” Harry begins, ten minutes before one of their meetings is to start, “I had sex with Kate.”

Dead silence.

“Good for you,” Liam says eventually. Louis is frozen.

“Did you enjoy it?” the man asks after a few more beats of silence.

Harry nods, once, sure and fierce. “Happy?” he demands, and no one knows what to say.

 

 _Sorry I was a twat this morning_ , Harry sends to Liam over WhatsApp. Liam looks at it, shakes his head, and thinks, _what the hell are we going to do with you Haz?_

 _Forgiven, you idiot_ , he sends back. There’s no reply.

 

On it goes.

 

“This is Kate,” Harry says, smiling at Liam and gently tugging the girl next to him forward. Liam shakes her hand, eyeing her up as casually as he can. She dresses nicely, has an easy smile and shakes his hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you,” Liam says. “I’m Liam.”

“I know,” she replies in amusement. “I have your CDs.”

Startled, Liam glances at Harry, the smirking bastard. A fan? Harry got with a _fan_? Not that they couldn’t, not that they shouldn’t, more that they have long agreed the fuss involved meant that they probably _wouldn’t_. They have all envisioned the awkwardness and the potential for hero-worship to overshadow actual affection, and it’s something all five have steered clear of.

“Relax,” Kate laughs. “It’s not like I know every word. I’m not going to cry, Liam.”

“She does want your autograph though,” Harry adds with a grin. “Maybe a selfie too?”

“Only one?” Liam manages to joke. “Better make it good.”

“Oh,” Kate says, looking around the studio. “I think we’ll have time for several.”

 

They break up a week later, a record even for Harry. He never gives an explanation, and none of them dare to ask.

 

“I wrote Little Reed, yes,” Harry says in an interview. “And yes, it’s personal, and no, I won’t give you an exclusive.”

Louis gives Harry a high-five. Their PR representative is glaring at them. It’s the first time in forever Harry has properly stood up for himself.

The interviewer is shocked into silence for a few brief moments. It’s beautiful.

 

“ _Plant my feet in the ground, dig my heels in deep, ‘cause I’m only going one way – and it’s sure not where you want.”_

@harrymybabe: @Harry_Styles I love your new song it’s so beautiful!

@Harry_Styles: @harrymybabe thank you, I’m glad you liked it

 

 _The new One Direction single,_ What I Want _, is exactly as promised; something new, something exciting, and something a hell of a lot more mature. Their beginnings as a sugary pop boy band are not forgotten entirely in this song, but give way mostly to a new folky type of music with a strong beat and some beautiful lyrics. Written predominantly by Styles, 22, there is a depth of emotion here that few of their songs manage to achieve. It is reminiscent in that respect of their song,_ Don’t Forget Where You Belong _, from their third best-selling album. It draws almost certainly from Styles’ own experiences from the last few years, recovering from his exploitation and abuse at the hands of Simon Cowell, who will remain in prison for at least ten more years. The lyrics are powerful, strong and, although at times it borders on a little repetitive, the single will undoubtedly be a big hit. Congrats, One Direction, for forging your own way._

Two years after the end, and Harry still cries at night sometimes. They’re touring the world, writing new music, yelling thank you’s to the crowds that scream their names as if they’re angels instead of mere mortals, building their own private lives as best they can in the spotlight, and it is Niall, in the end, who brings it up.

“Are we going to do this forever?” he asks, and it is surprising, from Niall, who the fans always joke is the biggest 1D fangirl of them all – which is not that far from the truth.

But they’re older now, and they don’t need to be in a band to be a family.

“I don’t know,” Harry answers quietly.

None of them do.

 

It doesn’t matter. They’re brothers in every sense of the word, and the six years of the band has brought them closer to each other than anyone else. Life is made up of all the little moments, the quiet words and comfortable silences, and they’ve had a million.

They know, whatever happens with their music, that they’ll have an infinite more and that – good or bad – they’ll savour every little second.

**Author's Note:**

> Very short, for me, and not the best work ever. This killed me, took me weeks to write this because I didn't know what I wanted it to say, really. Opinions are always appreciated. Please leave kudos or comments and I will love you forever!  
> Please do come visit me on [Tumblr](http://chase4dreams.tumblr.com/)


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